


Sweet Treats

by HardiganCaptain



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Feeding!Kink, POV Second Person, chubby!kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardiganCaptain/pseuds/HardiganCaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is a gift for thetattooedliar on Tumblr. We've both got a chubby!kink a country mile wide so... yeah.<br/>I'll be finishing this soon I hope rated explicit for later chapters</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



Your fingers twitch around the tall cup of coffee you ordered but have yet to drink. The cafe is empty, just a few other late starters who also need a caffeinated jump start. It’s the man at the counter that’s holding your attention.

Broad shoulders that stretch the suit jacket at the seams, a wide hand that is currently searching through the back pocket of charcoal pinstripe slacks. You can just catch the low voice apologizing, it would seem the man has lost his wallet. Pulling a twenty out of your pocket you slide out of the booth and place it on the counter near his elbow. You can tell he doesn’t believe the murmured story of you finding it on the floor. Smiling you feel your heart trip when he returns the gesture, a crooked tooth peeking out from between full lips.

His hand rests on your elbow as he orders, handing you the change. You’re surprised when he joins you at your table. It’s impossible to not watch him slowly eat the cinnamon roll, the thick white icing sticking to his fingers until he employees his teeth to scraping them clean. The smile that curls his lips when he notices you watching is boyish with a hint of something else, a small dollop of icing clinging to his lower lip.

He eyes the second roll, his gaze sliding to the cashier briefly before resting his forearms on the table. In a move he obviously thinks subtle, he moves the table away from him in an attempt to make more room for the slight round of his stomach.

Pulling the table closer to you, you begin picking at the muffin in front of you with a bland excuse of not wanting crumbs in your lap. The nod he sends you as he begins on the second roll doesn’t quite hide his embarrassed smile.


	2. Chapter 2

You are not going into the cafe for the fifth time this week in the hopes of running into the man from before. You are not steeling yourself for bitter disappointment when he doesn't show. Even you don't believe the lies you've been telling yourself all week. Still just the idea of running into him is enough reason to visit the little cafe though you normally you only go there once every two weeks. Though your eyes are locked on the screen of your cell, an attempt to seem preoccupied, you've already scoped out the small room and found him to be absent.

You'd look like the stalker you are if you just turned around and left, so you order a coffee and a cinnamon roll to take to a table in the corner. Picking off a layer you can't help remembering the way the icing had stuck to his fingers, the way his lips had curled as he scraped them clean. Wrinkling your nose you set it down, you sound like a school girl with a crush, not the grown woman that you are. You can't stop the happy murmur that escapes when the steam from the coffee reaches your nose.

"The cinnamon rolls as good as I remember?"

Startled you jump, your coffee sloshing in the cup but not spilling over, your head snaps to the side, eyes resting on the torso of the person standing next to you. Slowly you lift them to see that boyishly charming grin on his lips, one hand tucked into his pocket,

"Mind if I sit?"

Mutely you shake your head, your mouth is too dry to talk, your chest too tight to draw enough air to speak anyways. The coffee in your cup is still sloshing and you realize that your hand is shaking, the solid thunk as you set it down betrays the nervousness in a way your face isn't. All you can think is he knows, watching as he slides into the booth across from you. Without even taking a moment to think about it you slide the cinnamon roll across the table before your fingers wrap around the edge of the table and pull it towards you.

He raises an eyebrow at you before pressing the tip of his fore finger onto the small plate to pull it closer. It's the knowing smile on his face that causes you to blurt out that you make better stuff than the things they serve here, a stain colouring your cheeks. He raises an eyebrow at you, a pinched off piece of cinnamon roll halfway to his mouth.

"Oh? You think so?"

The skeptical tone has your hackles up, a determined look on your face as you nod, He slowly chews on the small bite of pastry while staring at you, the contemplative look on his face has you almost wishing you could take it back. Scraping a large puddle of icing from the plate he slowly laps at it while still watching you.

"Alright."

You blink slowly, fingers curling around your cup of coffee while your mind frantically goes through the baking you'd done over the past few days. None of it is your best work, just something to keep your hands busy. Shrugging your shoulders as though the idea of him coming over is not causing you minor panic attacks. Offering to bring him something tomorrow he gives you that look again, the one that says he knows exactly what you're thinking and he's amused by it.

"Sure, I suppose here will work." it's more a statement than a question as he picks up the pastry to slowly unroll it. "What time?"

You're still reeling twenty minutes later when you walk out, mind furiously going through the ingredients in your cupboard. It's not that you really think that this could go anywhere, but the idea of watching him meticulous pick apart something... You know that it's the normal kind of thing but just the idea of watching him eat, knowing that he's... You cut the train of thought off when you realize you almost walked out into traffic against a red light. You have all night to figure out what you're going to make, no point in getting injured just trying to get home.


	3. Chapter 3

There's something about baking that is just... comforting. Maybe it's taking a little piece of chaos and turning it into something that's not only pleasing to look at but tasty as well. Your phone is tucked into the corner, using the acoustics to boost the small built in speaker to fill the kitchen with music to work to. The dough has just risen and you eye it critically as you stir the bowl of frosting nestled in the crook of your arm. A few more minutes wouldn't make it a disaster, you're probably just a bit eager to get them done. 

After rolling it out you wash your hands in the sink, setting the butter out on the counter near it. Humming along with the song you slowly spread a thin layer across it before eyeing the possibilities. Should you drizzle some honey along the dough and add a sprinkling of powdered sugar before adding the crushed nuts or maybe it'd be better to add a thin layer of bittersweet chocolate with caramel swirling through out. The endless combinations roll through your mind before you finally decide to just make a few different ones and let it be a surprise for him.

You've lost count how many times you checked on the treats you made, though there's really no need. You're good with your hands, especially in the kitchen, and every time you've looked them over you've found nothing to fidget with. It takes you a long while to fall asleep, you haven't felt like this in a long while and while it is exhilarating it's also a bit scary. Honestly though it's just a bit of showing off right?

The next day you're up before your alarm clock goes off, already in the kitchen sitting at the small table wondering how soon is too soon to show up at the cafe. Your mind is a mess, constantly selecting a course of action and discarding it, lamenting the fact you hadn't thought to exchange numbers just so you wouldn't be stressing like this. After over an hour of agonizing you decide to just go and sit at one of the small metal tables outside, the sudden realization that the cafe may not even let you bring the plate inside blindsiding you.

It's nice out, just cloudy enough the sun isn't beating down on you, a feather light breeze fluttering across your skin. There's a good reason you frequent the cafe, it's only a few blocks from your home. Sitting down at a table beneath the awning you resist the urge to put your elbow on the table, cup your cheek in your hand. Barely. Instead you pull out your phone and find a mindless game to entertain yourself while you wait. The problem with mindless games is they tend to actually become quite entertaining.

You don't even notice when he sits down beside you, leaning close to watch the screen over your shoulder. It's only when his finger hovers over the screen that you even notice he's there. Your phone falls from your hand to the table as your cheeks flush, you watch as he catches it in his palm before it can hit the concrete. A murmured thanks as you take it from his palm, turning to look at him only to find his face inches from yours. You can smell something saccharine on his breath when he grins and shrugs off your thanks. For a split second all you can think about is picking up one of the treats you made and holding it up for him to eat from your fingers.

Would he swirl his tongue along your fingertips to chase the melted icing or would he scrape his teeth along your finger pads to clean them. Despite the warm day a shiver runs through you at the thought, one you hope goes unnoticed. Wrong, it's almost like he knows exactly what you're thinking, his gaze slipping away from yours to the plate sitting on the table. When he settles back in his chair, it takes a herculean effort not to let your gaze drop down the round stomach that his tailored suit is making an attempt to hide. It's as though he used to be fit but the hard muscle was going soft. Around his midsection it's more than that, his stomach forcing the one button he left on his suit jacket to strain to keep closed.

When you push the plate towards him he makes no move towards the sweets, though his eyes flick towards it before coming back to rest on you. You feel the skin on your forehead tighten, maybe he thinks you put something in them? Picking up one of the sweet rolls you lift it to your mouth only to see his mouth curl before opening slightly. He can't be serious. But the mischievous glint in his eyes, and the way his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip says that he is. Your fingers dig into the soft treat slightly in shock, the air around you is suddenly stifling. Oh God...


End file.
